


Precious Power

by literaryFRIVOLOUSneophyte



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Blood and Gore, Gen, Gore, Horror, Nightmares, Poetry, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-25
Updated: 2013-08-25
Packaged: 2017-12-24 14:04:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/940845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/literaryFRIVOLOUSneophyte/pseuds/literaryFRIVOLOUSneophyte
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You're a man of many insecurities and you always make sure to lock your windows before you go to coon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Precious Power

**Author's Note:**

> From the point of view of Cronus. He dreams of a death he never experienced.

Revenge  
sounds similar to the cry that broke from your throat as your violet blood spilled on  
sneakers. He wore sneakers. Isn't that funny?  
a joke stabbed through your selfish, greedy soul and left your every victory  
wrecked through your chest, a snapped mast  
thrown overboard with your crew. right across your ribs  
he laughed and it snapped from under your eyelids.

his master eats time  
and devours stars  
You ate at dinner parties, and invited royalty  
to feast with you.  
his master opened his mouth and the entire universe came crawling to his jaws  
In the face of a lord  
you have no hope.

You considered yourself classy, clever, and in control. You wanted perfection  
and you saw it destroyed as she burned down your fleet.  
Your bloodpusher pumped hate, burned in your hands  
like irons around wrists, clamped around your  
mouth and hinged on your jaw, chains to pull out your tongue  
snaking ingredients from the professor's cabinet to calm the  
stomping in your coon and the shadows from those bloody  
sneakers. He wore _sneakers._

You are scared.  
You are scared of many things.

You are terrified of what writhes outside the bubbles  
beyond the Veil and in the Furthest Ring  
on your clammy fingers gripping the pages of a spellbook.  
In every incantation  
you wish away the paranoia and the past  
of a man you never even were.

In the face of a lord  
you have no hope  
and you are out of time.

You know his voice.

And it haunts you.


End file.
